


The Depths of Silence

by donutsweeper



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Trading Losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: Cougar decided he hated the quiet.





	The Depths of Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amethystina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/gifts).



> Written for Trading Losers 2018.

It was too quiet.

Normally, Cougar didn't have a problem with quietness. He could go days without saying a word, just tipping his hat or nodding his head or offering a shrug as needed or, if he was in his sniper nest, he'd only have the ambient noise of the area around him for company with the occasional order from command in his ear. Quiet was good. It had worked for him for years and he'd fully expected it continuing to go that way. 

Then one Jacob Jensen had dropped into his life.

Cougar had dealt with other comms and tech guys before. It had been standard operating procedure to have one working, at least peripherally, on every assignment, but they tended to be floaters who'd swoop in and hand out whatever crap tech they'd be working with for the op, give them a few fumbly explanations on how to use it and then practically shit themselves when anything remotely unexpected happened in the field. Then, if they didn't get themselves (or anyone else) killed, they'd get kicked back to command the minute the team was back on friendly soil. Cougar didn't understand it, to be special forces they'd had to undergo the same training as everyone else, but until he'd met Jensen he'd never come across even a halfway competent comms and tech guy before.

Jensen was….

Hell, Jensen was more than competent. Jensen was amazing. He didn't cower under fire, if anything it improved his concentration. He could handle a gun well, not as accurate as Cougar, but few could, as well as being skilled in other weapons and fighting techniques ranging from fists to crossbows of all things. And the way he handled his tech? Gone were the days of shoddy, untrustworthy earwigs and mics that might die on them at any moment. Cougar also no longer had to worry about incomplete or unreliable intel provided by command because Jensen had taken one look at what had been issued to them on their first mission and was so offended by what he called 'pathetic, half-assed crap' he melded to his computer for a few hours before presenting Clay with a better entry plan (aka one that might actually work) based on actual blueprints and topographical maps.

Jensen was also a whirlwind. Always in motion, always talking, always _there,_ in Cougar's periphery, in Cougar's orbit, in Cougar's thoughts without seeming to even realize it. 

He did now though.

Or, more accurately, he realized the lack of it.

What made it worse was it had happened so suddenly. The op had seemed to go off without a hitch: Cougar had maintained excellent sightlines, Jensen hacked into three different mainframes, Roque got to blow a lot of shit up, Pooch got to drive a Shelby Mustang (which, apparently, was some kind of Big Deal that Cougar just didn't understand), and Clay hadn't even had to lecture any of them about proper etiquette on the comms channel. There had been a minor scuffle with a group of guards on the way out, but they'd walked away from it with no more than Clay having a split lip from taking a lucky punch and a cut along Jensen's forehead from where he'd gotten hit by a bit of shrapnel or something, and that was small enough it wouldn't even need any stitches.

They'd just pulled up to the safe house when Jensen turned to Cougar and said, "What's with all the bells?" before opening the door and vomiting on the street. Cougar had barely had time to grab him before he pitched forward, unconscious.

They'd brought him inside to do what they could for him while Clay got on the horn and tried to move their extraction up. Pooch had floated the idea of trying to find help for Jensen now instead of waiting until they could get him back to base but even Cougar knew it wasn't feasible. If (and it was a big if) they managed to find some place with the equipment and personnel necessary to treat him there was no kind of cover story they'd be able to spin that would explain away Jensen's obvious Americanness in a place where no American should be.

The doctor they'd spoken to from command had used a lot of big words, but what it boiled down to was that sometimes head injuries took time to affect a person and sometimes even the tiniest of blows can cause big problems. So, as a result, Jensen seeming okay and not collapsing until later made sense. Despite all of Clay's wrangling and threats, extraction wasn't going to be until 08:00 the next day since it was simply too dangerous for their transport to try to approach in the dark. Either Jensen would make it until then… or he wouldn't. The swelling could go down on its own and Jensen could wake up and be fine. It was equally possible the delay in treatment or the transport involved to get it would kill him. Once he got to a hospital, the doctors might find that the injury, whatever it specifically was, could be easily fixed with time, drugs or surgery and he could make a complete recovery. Or he could die. Or be physically or mentally altered. Or never wake up at all. 

Jensen lay quiet and still on the bed, a tiny band-aid covering the wound on his head. Cougar sat next to him, his chair pulled so close his knees were crunched up against the bed. He was hunched over, Jensen's limp hand between his own, watching, and waiting, for each breath Jensen took.

Despite being in the only bedroom, he and Jensen were alone in the room, the other Losers choosing to remain in the small shack's other room. Cougar was vaguely aware of them moving about- it sounded like Pooch and Clay were at the stove preparing a meal of some kind while Roque was at the table, sharpening his knives. Despite that, it was still too damn quiet.

"You need to wake up, Jake," he said eventually, desperate to fill silence with something other than his own thoughts. "Clay will not be happy if he is forced to call New Hampshire to tell your family you have been injured again. I believe he took that threat of evisceration seriously. Also, for a six year old, your niece can kick very hard. I'm not sure his shins have recovered from last time you got hurt." 

Cougar waited a few minutes before he cleared his throat and began to speak again, "And then there is Pooch. He will not appreciate returning to the days when he could not get reliable contact with Jolene for months at a time while we are away on missions." Of course, technically, they were all supposed to keep a communications blackout with civilians when on assignment, but Jensen had taken that directive to mean that _traceable_ communications weren't allowed and the system he'd set up was both uncrackable and untraceable so Clay had let it slide, especially since, before Jensen created it, Pooch had mentioned something about not reupping so he could spend more time with Jolene.

"You are also the only tech Roque will work with. Or, perhaps, it is more accurate to say you are the only one who will work with him. I have only heard stories of what happened when Abrams and Gomes were assigned to the Losers, it was before my time, but neither lasted more than a few weeks. I did see Samuelson run _towards_ the guerrillas to avoid Roque and I was there the time Martinez broke his own leg so he didn't have to ship out with us. While I cannot say for certain why McMasters was involuntarily committed, I have my suspicions. And we both know that Carver got what he deserved." Carver had been the tech temporarily assigned to the team the last time Jensen was injured; the man had somehow painted the Losers' own coordinates instead of the terrorist training camp that was supposed to be the target and nearly gotten them all killed. Technically, Carver'd been KIA in the laser targeted raid that followed. Technically.

"Jake, I," Cougar began before his words failed him. Scooting his chair back to give himself more room, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against their clasped hands and sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so damned tired. Closing his eyes for a second couldn't hurt, could it?

The next thing he was aware of was a hand in his hair, stroking him slowly. It was familiar. Nice. He lay there for a moment, enjoying the feeling, before his brain kicked into gear and he realized what it meant. 

"Jake?" He turned slowly, carefully, unwilling to dislodge the hand and break the contact.

"Cougs?" Jensen's voice was rough, raspy, and the best thing he'd heard in years.

"You're awake!" Cougar shouted, before raising his voice and calling into the other room, "Colonel, he's awake!"

"And now partially deaf," Jensen complained, grimacing and pulling his hand away from Cougar to rub his temple. "What happened? The last thing I remember—"

Clay, Pooch and Roque burst through the door, practically knocking it off its hinges in their haste.

"Fucking hell, Jay, it is damn good to see your baby blues," Pooch said as he shoved past Clay and the others to grab the first aid kit off the top of the dresser.

"I told you we didn't break the techie. I'm glad he ain't dead at all, but the food's ready so I'm gonna go eat before it gets cold," Roque grumbled, punching Clay in the arm before offering them all a half wave and heading back to the main room.

Clay grinned at Roque's reaction. "How you feeling, Corporal?"

"I got a headache like you would not believe," Jensen replied. "I don't even know - my head - what happened? Did I get the data?"

"Yeah, you did." Clay stayed in the doorway, well out of the way. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Jensen looked around, taking in his surroundings. "We bunked here overnight. All five of us had to share. No offense, but your snoring is out of hand, sir. Then," Jensen trailed off before offering an apologetic half shrug.

Cougar shifted and started to get up to give Pooch more room to examine Jensen but Jensen's hand shot out and grabbed Cougar's wrist in a vice-like grip. "I am not leaving," Cougar reassured Jensen, "but Pooch needs to examine you."

"Aw, fuck, you're going to blind me with that stupidly bright flashlight thingy, aren't you, Pooch, I hate that fucking thing."

"Sorry man, doctor's orders." Pooch didn't even pretend to sound contrite.

"Can't we just skip it but say we did?" Jensen pleaded, but then shuddered at the trio of glares he got in response. 

"Okay, touchy. What the hell, what's wrong? Why do you guys all look so worried?"

Pooch looked at Clay who looked at Cougar who looked down at Jensen, answering for all of them as he explained, "Your injury, you did not just pass out you… The doctor said." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "It was serious."

"How serious?" Something must have shown on his face, because Jensen didn't even give him a chance to answer before he added, "Oh. Shit, I'm sorry Cougs."

"It was not on purpose."

"Yeah, I know, but… I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Clay cleared his throat at that. Loudly. "And on that note, I'm out of here before I hear or see something I gotta do something about. Besides, someone's got to make sure Roque leaves some dinner for the rest of you," he said, before slipping out of the room as quickly as he could.

Pooch shook his head at Clay's antics. "He's never going to ask and you're never going to tell so I don't see what his problem is. Although, it could be that he's just jealous over how he keeps sleeping with women who wind up trying to kill him while the two of you are so fucking happy with each other. Like, disgustingly happy. Even me and Jolene don't have anything on the two of you."

"That's us," Jensen said, pulling and tugging on Cougar's wrist until Cougar got the hint and moved closer. He pouted at that. "No, bend down, I want a kiss."

Pooch rolled his eyes. "Like I said, disgustingly happy. Fine! One kiss, then Cougar gets out of my hair and gives me a chance to examine you."

"You have no hair," Cougar teased, smiling, and then bent down kissing Jensen quickly burying his face in the crook of his neck. "I love you," he murmured, "but if you scare me like that again, I will kill you. I am a sniper, you'll never see the shot coming."

Jensen, of course, laughed and wrapped his arms around him.


End file.
